


Don't Let Me Go

by actualite



Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Boston Red Sox, Future Fic, M/M, Texas Rangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualite/pseuds/actualite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Several years after Jarrod's retirement, he runs into Ian Kinsler by chance late one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Go

What though the sea with waues continuall  
Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all:  
Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought,  
For whatsoeuer from one place doth fall,  
Is with the tide vnto an other brought:  
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.  
-Edmund Spenser

 

They run into each other at a Walmart, of all places. It's after 11 PM and the store is pretty empty, but there he is, standing in the aisle perusing toothpastes.

"Ian Kinsler," Jarrod says, unable to believe that the guy in front of him isn't a mirage of some kind.

Ian turns around and stares for a minute. "Salty," he says, his face blank.

Jarrod starts forward, holding out his arms instinctively. Ian does not smile or give any other sign of recognition other than the fact that he said Jarrod's name, but Jarrod hugs him anyway, and he feels the way Ian brings his arms up briefly around Jarrod's middle in a lukewarm fashion.

"What are you doing here?" Jarrod says, drawing back to look down at Ian.

He looks exactly the same as he did more than fifteen years ago when they were playing on the same team. Maybe a bit more bracketing around his mouth, but he's obviously kept himself in really good shape, his hair a little long on top, dishevelled in that careless way that still ends up looking really fucking attractive.

"Uh, I'm here on a scouting trip," he says. "Forgot to bring toothpaste and I didn't like the stuff they gave me at the hotel. I'm picky about toothpaste."

"Is that right?" Jarrod says, unable to help smiling. He looks down at Ian's hand. One is clutching a tube of Colgate, and there's a bottle of something in his other hand, too. Ian follows Jarrod's gaze, and then Jarrod sees his hand clench around the bottle for a moment. Jarrod realizes suddenly that it's a bottle of lube.

Jarrod looks back up at Ian's face. He looks annoyed, his jaw jutting out a little.

"Who are you working for now?" Jarrod asks, hoping that ignoring it is the right thing to do.

"The Rangers," Ian says curtly.

"That's right," Jarrod says. "I think I did hear about that. Must be nice to be able to stay in the game."

"What are you up to these days?" Ian says, sounding almost accusatory.

His eyes rake over Jarrod appraisingly, and Jarrod tries to suck in his stomach a little. He knows he's gained a lot of weight since his baseball days. He's also wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and flip-flops, in stark contrast to the casual but definitely sharp clothes and shoes that Ian is sporting. And Jarrod is bald, since he started shaving his head completely after he lost too much hair in front. Fortunately he came out with a cap on.

"Oh, you know. I've got a couple things going. Me and my brother run a car wash business. I do some appearances, a little coaching. Not too busy but, you know, it gives me time to spend with the family." The truth is that there's very little need anymore for free time to spend with his family since his girls stopped wanting to spend time with their dad a long time ago, but Jarrod doesn't like to think about that.

Ian doesn't have any response to Jarrod's small talk. He just stares at Jarrod, looking unfriendly. Jarrod knows he should just excuse himself and say _It was great running into you,_ but seeing Ian this way has awoken something in him that he thought he'd shut away for good. Ian is a part of Jarrod's past that feels so far away, but that Jarrod misses so much. _So much_.

"Hey, I know it's late, but would you maybe wanna catch up a little? Have a beer or something?" Jarrod says hopefully.

Ian's eyes travel again down to Jarrod's middle, then back up to his face.

"I don't know," he says. "I'm pretty beat. Just got in today and it's been kind of a long day."

"Hey, no worries," Jarrod says, disappointed but not wanting to show it. Instead, he makes a vague gesture toward the bottle in Ian's hand. "Looks like you've got an exciting night planned anyway."

He regrets the joke as soon as he says it. Ian's face darkens, and Jarrod waits nervously for Ian to say _Fuck you, man,_ and walk away, but Ian doesn't. He just continues staring at Jarrod, his jaw clenching a little.

"Sorry," Jarrod adds hastily. "Forgot that we aren't in a locker room." Back in the day you could make any kind of joke about a guy jacking off, Jarrod thinks, feeling wistful, but now that they're older for some reason it seems wildly inappropriate.

"Yeah," Ian says after a long pause.

Why is this so fucking awkward? He and Ian were never really close friends but they were teammates and had a lot of long conversations, on bus and plane rides and in the clubhouse. True, they haven't spoken or even seen each other in the nearly five years since Jarrod's retirement, but it shouldn't be this stilted, Jarrod thinks.

"Look," Jarrod says, a little desperately. "I don't know how long you're in town for but I really would love catching up. Can I give you my number? If you're free tomorrow night or, hell, any night, just hit me up. I'd invite you over for dinner but my wife doesn't cook much anymore and I could never cook worth a damn."

There's another long pause, and then Ian says, "Okay." He reaches around toward his back pocket but his hands are full, one holding toothpaste and the other holding lube. After lifting both up and down indecisively a few times, he clenches his jaw and purposely sets both of the items on the shelf in front of him and reaches to get his phone out of his pocket.

"Okay, give me your number," he says resentfully.

Jarrod gives it to him, and then Ian pockets his phone again, reaching for the toothpaste, but not, Jarrod notices, the lube. It sits there on the shelf and Jarrod tries not to look at it.

"Any time," Jarrod says. "Even if you only have an hour or something. I'd just--I'd really like to talk to you."

"Alright," Ian says. "Nice seeing you, man." But he sounds like it was anything but. After staring at Jarrod for another awkward moment he marches past Jarrod and off toward the checkout counter. Jarrod turns to watch him go, the sight of Ian's familiar gait recalling strange and unsettling feelings in Jarrod's chest.

*

He knows Ian won't call him, but he spends most of the night awake, imagining what would happen if he did. It's not unlike the time he used to spend awake in hotel rooms on the road back when he was a Ranger, wondering how things could be different if Ian could see him as a friend and not just a teammate. Ian was always at the center of everything the team did, and his opinion of you made a huge difference in how you were treated in the clubhouse. Not that anyone was rude or anything, but Ian decided whether you were in on all the inside jokes or not.

Remembering what that was like is unsettling. It's as if seeing Ian triggered a rush of memories that he'd kept locked away for years now. Even in his last few years of playing, signing minor league deals and sitting out for months with injuries and cutting ties with teams when he couldn't make the big league rosters, he'd already started to shut away or ignore that itch in him, in every baseball player, that feeling of wanting something really badly, of being so close to some ideal or perfection that you couldn't really even identify or articulate but that you wanted more than anything to touch and hold. He'd had it all his years growing up, and it was what had driven him to have what limited success he did, but he'd put a lid on it long ago, resigned to the fact that he'd never get close enough and that continuing to chase it would be ruin everything.

But would it? He still wants it so badly, he realizes. Why has seeing Ian awoken it in him again? And if Ian would just talk to him, if he could just get close to Ian, would that mean something? Would it put him any closer than he'd gotten as a young man? Why does it feel like a random encounter with a mere acquaintance late at night in a Walmart is some kind of second chance?

It doesn't matter, Jarrod tells himself. Seeing Ian didn't mean anything because Ian isn't going to call him and things will continue as they have for a while now. The thought makes him restless.

His tossing and turning doesn't bother Ashley because she doesn't sleep with him and hasn't for nearly four years, blaming his sleep apnea that causes him to snore too loudly. Or so she says. Jarrod even went to a doctor to get one of those breathing apparatuses that was supposed to help with it, but she still insisted on moving out to one of the guest bedrooms. Jarrod's sure it's just an excuse but what's probably worse is that he doesn't care. It's not like they're still having sex or anything. They haven't since Sloane was born. Back when he was still playing it didn't matter all that much, since it had been pretty easy to get laid whenever he wanted, and then by the time that dried up he'd pretty much stopped thinking of Ashley in a sexual context at all.

In the morning Jarrod gets up feeling extremely out of sorts. There are the usual aches and pains in his stiff joints, especially his knees and back, but there's something else, too, something that Jarrod doesn't want to acknowledge as depression, though it feels an awful lot like it.

He makes his way to the shower, which is one little thing he can look forward to in what is sure to be a day of disappointment. As the water washes over him he reaches for his dick under a gut that seems to get a little bigger every day. He's started letting himself think about other guys when he jerks off recently, something he'd almost never let himself do back in the day when he would've rather shot himself than admit to the fact that he was probably gay. He braces one arm up against the wall and pretends that he's fucking another guy up against it, someone maybe a little smaller but still strong, someone who's a bit hard to handle and pushing back against him, skin slick and taut in the water, tall enough that his dark hair might get in the way, but Jarrod likes it, he likes the idea of breathing into it, getting it in his mouth as he bites at the guy's neck. Yeah, he'd have an armful of this guy, dig his fingers into the guy's hip and just give it to him for as long as he could, making the guy moan and say Jarrod's name like it was being torn out of him.

It's always over too soon, and Jarrod sighs, still bracing one arm up against the wall before standing upright again to rinse off.

It's Saturday, which is traditionally donut day in the Saltalamacchia household. It used to be that every Saturday when he wasn't on the road he'd drive the whole family out for donuts and the girls were always so excited to pick out a donut with pink frosting and sprinkles. Now Sidney and Hunter are off at college and Sloane is about to graduate from high school. No one seems to really like donuts anymore but Jarrod keeps the tradition up anyway, unwilling to let go of it.

He buys a dozen, which is way too many, because he'll end up eating most of them himself. Ashley isn't even out of bed yet by the time he gets home, so he puts her coffee in the microwave to be warmed up later and takes the dog for a walk.

When he gets back Sloane is up, but she's making herself a smoothie.

"You gonna have a donut? It's donut day," Jarrod says, tugging at her blond hair.

"Stop, you'll mess up my hair," she says impatiently, not even turning around.

"I got you a maple bar. Those used to be your favorite ones."

Sloane doesn't answer, turning on the blender instead, which is noisy.

Jarrod sits down at the table to drink his coffee and eat another donut, even though he's already had two.

When the blender turns off he tries again. "C'mon, just one?" he says coaxingly.

"No thanks," Sloane says without looking at him.

Jarrod watches her as she rushes around the kitchen. "Where are you in such a hurry to get to?"

"I told you," Sloane says, "we're volunteering at the humane society today. I'm supposed to give Haley and Phin and Troy a ride and then I have to take names and hand out name tags."

"Oh, is that what you and your mom have been working on all week?"

Sloane is half turned away but Jarrod can see her roll her eyes, probably thinking he can't see.

"You know, I could help with that next time, if you want me too," Jarrod says. He's always a bit sad that he's never included in these projects. The girls always want Ashley's help but never his.

"It's okay," Sloane says, running water in the sink, her back still to him. "I think you were at the car wash or something when we started on it."

"Hey, you have any time later today to go to the driving range with me? It's been a while since we've been to the club together." They used to go all the time. Sloane was the only one of the girls who had any interest in golfing; Sidney played volleyball and softball, and Hunter was more of the artsy type, but when Sloane had said she wanted to learn to golf as a kid Jarrod had decided they would both get good at it together, and it was their special time, just the two of them.

"Dad," Sloane says, turning around as she picks up her smoothie and heads out of the kitchen, "seriously, sometimes you are so _suffocating_."

With that she grabs a big beach bag, a giant folded up posterboard and her keys, and heads for the back door.

"Here, let me get that door for you," Jarrod says, starting up from his chair, but his knees are stiff and he can't move quickly enough.

"No, it's fine, don't try to get up," Sloane says, and then she's got the door open, shoving the dog out of the way and letting it slam behind her.

"Is she out the door already?" Ashley says, walking into the kitchen in her bathrobe.

"Your coffee's in the microwave," Jarrod says.

"You know I don't like the coffee at Dunkin'," Ashley says, going to the microwave to take the coffee cup out. She sniffs at it briefly and makes a face, walking over to the sink to dump it out.

"You always drank it before," Jarrod says.

"I just don't think I can get it down today," Ashley says.

Jarrod looks down at the box of donuts on the table in front of him. "Are you at least gonna have a donut? If you don't, I'm gonna have to eat this whole box myself."

"I'll have one," Ashley says absently. "A little later." She walks behind him and rests a hand on his shoulder briefly before picking up her phone from the charger on the counter behind him and then moving out toward the patio to call someone. Jarrod looks down at the box in front of him and sighs.

*

He goes to the car wash to check in on things that afternoon, not because he has to but because he doesn't really have anything else he needs to do. Justin is never in on weekends anyway, so it's good to have one of them make an appearance, or so Jarrod tells himself.

Jarrod has never built the kind of rapport with the guys who work there that Justin has. If Justin is there Jarrod will follow him around and sometimes be called upon to talk about catching Tim Wakefield's knuckleball or whatever with customers or guys in the office sitting around and shooting the shit on a slow day. But otherwise people don't really seek him out. It's enough that he donated a framed autographed Red Sox jersey to mount on the wall. Jarrod often feels like people rely on that thing for conversation about as much as they rely on him. Maybe more.

Weekends are never slow at the car wash, though, and Jarrod stands around with his sunglasses on, watching everyone running around trying to get the long line moving as quickly as possible. People nod at him respectfully, recognizing him as the owner, but no one has time to talk and after a little while Jarrod realizes he should probably just get out of everyone's way.

Sloane didn't want to practice driving with Jarrod but he decides to go to the club anyway. He eats lunch alone in the dining room, a club sandwich with chips and a diet coke, and then makes his way out to the driving range. Just as he's about to get started, however, his phone rings.

It's an unknown number, and Jarrod debates answering it, thinking it might just be a telemarketer. But he's just lonely enough that he answers it anyway.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Salty?"

Jarrod's heart rate increases dramatically. "Yeah?" he says.

"It's Ian. Kinsler."

Jarrod can't help it; his face splits into a wide grin. "Kins! Hey, man, how are you?"

"Fine. Listen--"

"I was just--"

They talk over each other and then both stop, waiting for the other to continue.

Jarrod hears Ian laugh, a strangely high-pitched and very brief little chortle. "Uh," Ian continues, "I was just calling to say I've got an hour or two free tonight. If you wanted to meet up or something."

"Sure thing," Jarrod says eagerly, excitement building in his chest. "Can I come pick you up or something? What hotel are you at?"

"Uh, we can just have a drink in the bar here," Ian says. "I'm at the Marriott in West Palm Beach."

"That the one on Okeechobee?" Jarrod says.

"Yeah, I guess," Ian says. "Come by around 8. I'll be at the bar."

"Great, I'll be there," Jarrod says. "Hey, I'm really glad you called. Didn't think you would."

"Yeah," Ian says. "I didn't think I would either. See you in a few hours."

The conversation is apparently over, but that's okay, Jarrod thinks. They're going to be able to talk tonight.

"Yeah, see you in a few!"

Ian hangs up, so Jarrod does too, and then he decides to leave the driving range and this depressing solo pastime.

It's amazing how much this one phone call has managed to lift his spirits. Jarrod tells himself not to expect too much of this meeting, that it will in all likelihood be as stiff and awkward as their encounter in the Walmart the night before, but none of these thoughts do anything to dampen his feelings.

He rushes home, stepping in the shower again even though he just showered that morning, and then giving himself a very careful and thorough shave in front of the sink. Then he goes through his closet, looking for an outfit that will make him look like someone Ian wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen with. He vetoes lime green and bright yellow, the two colors he normally favors, and finally settles on a brilliant deep blue light sweater over a white collared shirt, black chinos, and a belt with a gold buckle. He digs out his best shoes, because Ian always put a lot of importance on shoes, Jarrod remembers. And then he snaps on his good watch, the Bulgari with the pink gold case, his most expensive accessory.

When he's done getting ready it's still only 6:30, so he goes out to the backyard to throw the ball for the dog for a while. Ashley gets home a few minutes later, and when she sees him dressed up she comes out to join him.

"Are you going somewhere?" she says.

"Just drinks with a friend."

"Who?" she asks.

He'd never meant to keep it a secret, he realizes, but now that she's asking him point blank he doesn't want to tell her who he's meeting. He doesn't want her intruding on this, as if even her knowledge of who he's meeting will taint it.

"A scout," he says, which is not technically a lie. "Thought maybe I'd try to put some feelers out, see if I could get involved somehow."

Ashley is still eying him, not really with suspicion but with something bordering on amazement, though far less dramatic, as if she's impressed that he still has it in him to make any kind of effort. It feels like an insult, and Jarrod is annoyed.

"You look like you're going on a date," she says. "Didn't know you had to get all dressed up just to meet with some old scout."

"We're not meeting at McDonald's," Jarrod says. "I've gotta go downtown."

"So it is like a date," Ashley teases, as if it's so cute that he's trying so hard, and that annoys Jarrod even more. She's always talked to him this way, as if he's still the pimply callow youth he was when they'd first started dating. It didn't used to bother him--in fact he didn't even notice it when he was younger--but after a while he began to feel like he'd outgrown this dynamic years ago and she never realized it. She still hasn't, apparently.

He wants to say something like, _Well at least someone is willing to go on a date with me since my own wife never will,_ but they've had similar arguments in the past, about Ashley's seeming lack of desire to spend any kind of time with Jarrod without the kids around, and they never lead anywhere good, usually just to a solid half-hour of yelling and then two more hours of circular conversation from which no conclusions were drawn, after which Jarrod always wonders why they don't just get a divorce.

Jarrod doesn't have time for that tonight. He doesn't answer her, just throwing the ball again toward the far corner of the yard. It bounces off a fence and then rolls back toward the pool, and the dog jumps right in after it.

"Ugh," Ashley says, "I've told you to be careful about where you throw that thing. Now he's going to track water in the house." She turns and goes inside, and Jarrod is relieved.

*

He gets to the Marriott nearly fifteen minutes early, scanning the bar for Ian but not seeing him anywhere, so he sits down and orders a scotch and prepares to wait.

It's more than half an hour later and Jarrod is almost ready to get up and leave, disappointed and wishing he were drunk, when he looks up and sees Ian sitting down in the chair next to him.

"You came," Jarrod says, his flagging spirits immediately perking up again. "I was getting worried."

"Yeah, sorry," Ian says. "Was stuck on a conference call."

"No problem," Jarrod says, a little in awe of how busy and important Ian obviously is to be stuck on conference calls on a Saturday night. But baseball is like that. No such thing as off-days, really, especially for front office types. Something is always happening. Jarrod remembers wistfully the times when he used to get calls in the middle of the night. Those were the days.

"You been waiting long?" Ian says, signaling the bartender.

"Just since 8," Jarrod lies. He glances down at Ian's left hand, which is resting on the table next to Jarrod, and notices that Ian isn't wearing a wedding ring.

The bartender comes over and Ian orders his drink, then picks up his phone to glance at the screen before pocketing it and turning back to Jarrod.

"So," he says. " How are you?"

"Great," Jarrod says automatically. "Really good. Enjoying retirement a lot. Never seemed to have enough time to do anything when I was playing. Or I was always sore or injured, especially toward the end. Now I have as much time as I want and don't have to sit around all iced up all the time."

"Yeah, it's crazy how you learn to live with constant pain," Ian says.

"How's your ankle?" Jarrod asks. "I remember that used to give you a lot of trouble."

"It's totally fine," Ian says. "Never bothered me except when I was on the field."

"So when did you start scouting and stuff? You haven't been retired long, have you? Seems like it was just a couple years ago."

"Yeah, I pretty much started right after. Didn't need to learn how to be bored before deciding I should start something else. I knew I needed a distraction."

"You're still living in Dallas, then, I take it."

"Actually," Ian says, accepting his drink from the bartender and taking a sip, "I'm technically based in Tucson."

Jarrod waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "You must do a lot of traveling, then," Jarrod said.

"Yeah, they send me all over for these scouting trips. I kinda like it. Didn't think I would miss airports when we were on the road so much, but I don't think I can stay in one place very long anymore. Habit," Ian says, staring ahead of him at the mirror and the colorful liquor bottles on the shelves.

"I don't miss the traveling," Jarrod says, "but I do feel kinda restless sometimes."

Ian looks over at Jarrod silently. He's got a good five o'clock shadow going, his jaw bony and his face thin, and his hair is gelled down, unlike the night before. He's wearing a white jacket. Jarrod realizes that he didn't get to hug Ian again, which he'd been wanting to do.

"So," Jarrod continues, when Ian just keeps regarding him silently, almost speculatively, "you must keep in touch with a bunch of the guys. Who was on the team when I was...Murph? You still in touch with Murph?"

"Yeah," Ian says, turning back to his drink. "He's doing great. We sometimes catch a Mavs game together."

"And Mikey, how's he?"

"He's fine," Ian says briefly.

"I lost touch with him a few years back. I should really give him a call."

Ian doesn't volunteer any more information, so Jarrod tries again.

"What about Josh? You must see him a lot, right? You two was real close back then, I remember that."

"Actually, I don't see him at all," Ian says. "He went all Hollywood or some shit. I don't know. We never really hung out much after he signed with the Angels back in...what was it, 2012? No, that was the year we lost the Wild Card. Must've been the year after."

Jarrod doesn't know, so he just nods.

Ian shrugs. "Well, you know him," he says after a moment. "He's pretty much an out of sight, out of mind kind of guy."

Jarrod eyes Ian, trying to read his profile. Ian is staring down at his drink and frowning slightly.

"You sound kinda bitter," Jarrod says. "Did something happen?"

"What? No," Ian says, glancing up at Jarrod briefly. "Nothing happened."

Again a silence descends. Ian, Jarrod reflects, has been kind of uncommunicative, returning curt answers to most of Jarrod's questions and not really asking many of his own.

"So," Jarrod says, trying a different tack, "how long are you here for?"

"Until Tuesday," Ian says. "I've got a few meetings with regional guys. Then I'm heading back to Dallas."

"D'you come here a lot?" Jarrod asks.

"Not very often. I've been here probably twice since I started this job."

"Well," Jarrod says, "it's crazy lucky that I ran into you last night."

"Lucky?" Ian echoes, turning to look at Jarrod again. He's smiling slightly, the first time he's smiled since he sat down, but Jarrod can't tell if it's a genuine smile or more of a smirk.

"Yeah," Jarrod says. "Maybe just lucky for me. But definitely lucky."

Ian shakes his head slightly, but his smile deepens and he looks back down at his drink.

"Hey," Jarrod says, "d'you mind if I order some food? I haven't had dinner yet."

"Oh," Ian says, "no, order what you want."

"Do you want something too?" Jarrod says, raising his hand to signal the bartender.

"No," Ian says, "I just ate like an hour ago. Hey, that's a nice watch."

Jarrod lowers his hand to look down at his wrist. "Thanks," he says, ridiculously pleased at the compliment. "I got it a few years back."

"I've never really liked wearing a watch," Ian says. "Always forget to put it on. But maybe if I had one like that I would remember to wear it."

Then the bartender comes over and Jarrod orders a burger.

"You sure you don't want anything?" Jarrod asks Ian.

"Yeah," Ian says.

"Hey," Jarrod says to the bartender, "can we move to one of these empty tables?"

"Sure," the bartender says, since it's pretty empty. "Anywhere you like."

So they move, mostly because Jarrod wants to be able to look at Ian head-on instead of sideways.

After they settle in at a table in a dimly lit corner, there's another pause, and then Jarrod decides he might as well just start talking, since Ian hasn't proven himself to be very garrulous. Jarrod starts telling Ian about his family. He talks about his girls, how proud he is of Sidney and her sports scholarship, how he doesn't understand a lot of what Hunter is interested in but is really impressed with her art, showing Ian pictures of some of the pottery she made, and then talking about how Sloane is in the honor society at her school and a leader of her church youth group and really active in the community.

"They're great, and I can't even take any credit for it, since Ash was the one to do so much for them while I was at the ballpark or on the road every day. I feel like I missed out on a lot."

"But you've made up for it since you retired, sounds like," Ian says.

"I've tried, yeah," Jarrod says, leaving out the part about how he feels kind of guilty about all of it. It's not like he didn't want to spend more time at home and being with his kids, but if he'd had any kind of choice--if another team had signed him for just one more year, or if people had been knocking on his door after he announced his retirement, trying to give him a coaching or front office or media job--he probably wouldn't have made the choice that gave him more time with his family, and he's pretty sure all of his kids know it. Hunter has said as much to his face, and while he can't blame her for her feelings, he wishes she understood. He loves his kids more than anything, but what he feels for baseball is not about love. It's way beyond that, and no one in his family understands, not his kids, not Ashley, not even his brother, who played pro ball for a while. Only certain guys get it, and Ian is one of those guys. Jarrod wishes he had the words to explain this.

His food comes, and Jarrod picks up the burger and chomps down on it, continuing to talk about his family, wanting to make his life sound full and happy to Ian so that Ian doesn't feel sorry for him. He recounts anecdotes about the awards his kids have won, his involvement in youth baseball programs, even the car wash and working with his brother, the ups and downs of business ownership, boring details of his life that Ian probably isn't all that interested in, but that, for whatever reason, he listens to patiently. In fact, after the third time his phone buzzes, Ian turns it off and pockets it as if he wants to forget about it, looking back up at Jarrod and just listening and nodding and saying, "That's crazy," or "Wow, yeah," or whatever else the occasion warrants.

Jarrod is finishing up the fries on his plate and talking with his mouth full when he realizes that Ian has just been staring at him for a while without saying anything, not even nodding or making vague sounds of agreement to the things Jarrod is saying. Ian has ordered two more drinks since the first one and he's sitting kind of hunched in his chair, the look on his face as he watches Jarrod eat making Jarrod think of someone very hungry.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat?" Jarrod says. "You want a french fry? I've got a few left here."

"No," Ian says. "I told you, I just ate. I'm not hungry."

His eyes dart away from Jarrod, and he watches some people in the lobby of the restaurant as they pass by. Jarrod takes the opportunity to look his fill at Ian's face, this face from Jarrod's youth. Jarrod memorizes each plane and angle, the way Ian's mouth curves downward at the corners, his long eyelashes.

Ian is beautiful, Jarrod realizes suddenly, and the thought is something of shock. Why would he think of that word, of all words?

"You know," Jarrod blurts before he can stop himself, "my wife asked me if I was going on a date tonight."

Ian's head snaps back to look straight at Jarrod. "What?"

Jarrod can't think of how to follow that up. Why did he even say it? Yet another silence begins to draw out between them. Jarrod is embarrassed.

"Look," Ian says, "It's getting kind of late. I should probably--I should probably go up and get some sleep. I have an early meeting tomorrow."

"Yeah, of course," Jarrod says hastily. He ruined it. Whatever it was that they had going--maybe it was just another hour of conversation, or maybe it was keeping in touch and Ian calling him up next time he was in Florida--is disintegrating because of Jarrod's strange interpolation.

Ian reaches back for his wallet.

"No, no, I got it," Jarrod says, digging into his own pocket.

"I ordered like three drinks," Ian says. "And you drove all the way down here. I can just put it on my tab."

"No way," Jarrod says. "Here." He takes out fifty dollars and puts it on the table. "That should cover it."

Ian signals the server, who comes over immediately. "Put it on room 1109," he says.

"Yes, sir," the server says, and begins to gather up Jarrod's plate and silverware and the empty glasses.

"It was good to see you," Ian says. And then he scoots back in his chair and stands up. Jarrod hurriedly follows suit. The server brings over the bill and Ian signs his name on it.

"Hey, I'm just glad you had some spare time," Jarrod says when Ian finishes filling out the receipt. "Feel like I didn't get to hear much about how things are going for you."

"That's because nothing much is going on with me," Ian says. He hesitates, looking like he wants to say something else for a moment, but then he doesn't, merely holding out his hand. "Well, take care."

"Hey," Jarrod says, taking Ian's hand and clasping it. "you should call me if you're ever in town again. I mean it. I really--it was good to see you."

Ian looks up at Jarrod, who is still holding Ian's hand tightly, and Jarrod wants to hug Ian very badly. So he does, pulling him in and enveloping him. It's a better hug than the night before at the Walmart. Jarrod leans his head into Ian's and squeezes around Ian's body, which feels small in his arms.

Ian lets him hold him for a long moment but then he steps back, breaking away from Jarrod's hold.

"Good to see you," he repeats. "You good to drive home?"

"Yeah," Jarrod says.

"Okay. Well...bye," Ian says, and then with one final, blank look, he turns and heads back toward the lobby and the elevator.

Jarrod watches him walk away again, just like in the Walmart the night before, but this time feels different, more final. Seeing Ian had felt like a second chance last night, but if he lets Ian walk away now he knows, with devastating certainty, somehow, that the chance will be wasted, the window will disappear, and whatever it is that he's been yearning for all his life, whatever it is that he's wanted so badly to figure out through baseball and religion and family and everything, will slip through his fingers and be lost to him forever.

"Wait!" Jarrod calls desperately, unwilling to let that happen. He jogs after Ian, who turns around, his forehead creased in consternation.

"Wait," Jarrod repeats, stopping in front of Ian.

"What?" Ian says.

"Have you," Jarrod begins, his mind working frantically as he tries to set on some kind of reason to keep Ian here in front of him, "have you been out to see the Juno Beach Pier?"

Ian looks at him strangely. "Uh, no, I don't think so."

"I think it's open until midnight on Saturdays," Jarrod says. "Sometimes they close it early for the sea turtle nesting but--but I think it's still open. It's pretty great at night. You should, you should see it at least once before you go."

"Okay," Ian says. "Maybe I'll make some time tomorrow."

Ian is deliberately ignoring Jarrod's invitation, but Jarrod is determined to try one last time, and if it doesn't work--then maybe he was wrong about everything and there's no point.

"We could go now. If you're not too tired. I could drive," he says.

Ian looks up at him, and he looks so unhappy in that instant that Jarrod is shocked. It's like everything he feels inside that he won't even acknowledge to himself is reflected in Ian's face. Then Ian turns away and Jarrod can't be sure that he didn't imagine it.

"Please, Kins," he says. His voice cracks embarrassingly as he says it, and he clears his throat.

"Well," Ian says, still not looking at him. He reaches up to scratch the back of his head and then his hand drops again. "Okay."

*

It's not a very long drive, but Ian is quiet most of the way. They park and get out of the car. The sky is cloudy and reflecting the lights of the city, so things are a little brighter than they otherwise would be, almost like the light just before dawn.

"Me and my brother used to come out here to fish when we were younger and my dad was too busy to take us somewhere," Jarrod says.

Ian is walking next to Jarrod, his head turned away as he looks out over the water. They make their way to the pier and begin walking down it. The tackle shop is closed, of course, and the pier itself is deserted. Jarrod used to like to come out here on his own at night after all the tourists were gone, but that was a long time ago.

They walk silently to the end, and then Jarrod leans on the railing and looks out at the ocean.

There's a bit of wind, but it's not too bad, and the night is pretty warm. He looks over at Ian, who is leaning his back against the railing and looking back toward the shore. Jarrod turns his head around to look too, seeing the lights at the giant resort behind them.

"Why'd your wife think you were going on a date?" Ian says abruptly.

Jarrod looks over at Ian again. "She was just joking," he says.

"Yeah, but there must've been a reason she made the joke."

"I guess because she saw me all dressed up and shaved," Jarrod says.

"Did you do all that just to meet up with me?" Ian says.

"Yeah," Jarrod says. "It's nice to have a reason to...well, make an effort again."

"What does that mean?" Ian says.

"Well, look at me," Jarrod says, gesturing down at himself. "It's pretty obvious I've let myself go, right?"

Ian is silent.

"Honestly," Jarrod says, wanting to say the words out loud so that someone will hear them, wanting to speak what he's known inside for a long time but been too afraid to acknowledge, "I'm pretty fucking miserable."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ian says incredulously. "You just spent like two hours telling me how great your life was, how you couldn't ask for anything better!"

"Well, what do I got to complain about? I've got three healthy kids who are doing great things, my parents are still going strong, I had a solid baseball career and got rich as fuck playing a game for a living. Maybe I can complain about losing my hair, but that don't matter. It was awful hair anyway, everyone said so."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Ian says. "Is that why you brought me out here?"

"I don't know," Jarrod says. "Maybe this feels like a place where I can be honest. Back there in that hotel, I couldn't."

Ian is quiet again, and Jarrod is too ashamed to look at him.

"My kids don't even like me anymore," Jarrod says. "I think they're embarrassed of me. Everything I say is wrong or annoys them. My youngest daughter told me just this morning that I'm suffocating her. I used to think they were my best friends."

"That's normal for teenagers," Ian says. "My daughter won't even talk to me to tell me I embarrass her. You just have to wait it out. They'll like you better when they're older. I liked my parents better after I turned 25."

"Yeah, but you've got other things going. You've got this great job and--and your wife probably doesn't look down on you and treat you like a kid. My wife has no respect for me and I don't really blame her. Ever since baseball went out of my life I got nothing."

"Uh," Ian says. "I guess I never said, but I'm divorced. My wife definitely hates me."

"What?" Jarrod says, looking up.

"That's why I have to be based in Tucson. She wanted to move back there and she took the kids with her. I have to be there if I want to see them at all. But my daughter still hates me because she thinks the divorce is all my fault. Which it is."

"I'm sorry," Jarrod says.

"Don't be. I'm fucking glad to be out of it."

"Yeah," Jarrod says, turning back to lean on the railing again and stare out at the water. "And you've still got baseball. I wish I did. And I know people think it's just for the attention and being famous and money, but you know it's not just that, right?"

"Yeah," Ian says. "I know."

"Seeing you again," Jarrod says, wanting to talk and talk until he's empty, "it's like I almost feel like I'm back there, like I'm young again and people want me. I can't even explain. It probably sounds stupid. No one gets it who wasn't in it, you know? People talk about loving baseball but they don't understand. I feel invisible in my life now, like people are looking at me and they don't even see me. And I don't even want people to see me because--well, look at me. I'm disgusting. I don't feel like myself anymore. Every morning I wake up and look in the mirror and there's a stranger staring back at me, some big, bald fat fuck I don't even recognize."

"Come on," Ian says, "you're not that bad."

"Aren't I?" Jarrod says. "Who'd even look at me?"

"Hey," Ian says quietly. And then when Jarrod doesn't turn around, he says it again, louder. "Hey!"

Before he can react Jarrod feels Ian's hand on his face, and Ian forces his head around so that he's looking right at Ian.

"I'm looking at you," Ian says harshly. "I'm looking at you right now."

And then, to Jarrod's complete shock and amazement, Ian leans forward and kisses him right on the mouth.

Jarrod nearly stumbles forward, but then he catches himself, and everything in him screams to grab hold, to hold on to this moment as hard as he can, so he does, reaching out to trap Ian in his arms and draw his whole lithe little body toward Jarrod, bending Ian's spine back as he leans forward. Ian reaches up to hook his arms around Jarrod's shoulders, and he's strong, so much stronger than any of the women and even the two men that Jarrod has done this with.

Ian is straining up to meet him because Jarrod is so much taller, so Jarrod breaks away for a moment, seeing the way Ian's eyes are squeezed shut, the way he's breathing hard, and then Ian's eyes snap open and they look huge, staring up at Jarrod with that hungry look in them that Jarrod saw at the bar. So that's what it meant. Jarrod leans in again, catching at Ian's lip and then pushing his tongue right up against Ian's.

Ian makes a stifled sound and lets Jarrod into his mouth, and he's so warm and soft and hard at the same time. Jarrod can't help moving his hands down from where they're resting on Ian's back, reaching down to squeeze Ian's ass, jerking his hips forward so that they're standing flush against each other. Jarrod can feel himself getting hard, wanting to grind against Ian, push against him, bend him back and open him up, and Ian seems willing, too, each tense muscle going pliant wherever Jarrod touches him with his hands and his mouth.

Then Ian is the one to break away suddenly, drawing back and looking out at the water.

"It's raining," he says, his voice sounding raspy.

And then Jarrod feels it, tiny little droplets on his face and hands.

Then Ian looks back up at Jarrod.

"I'll race you back to the car," he says, his eyes lit up even in the dark, and before Jarrod can stop him he's off like an arrow, laughing and looking back at Jarrod.

"No fair," Jarrod says, starting after him. "You was always so much faster than me."

But he runs after Ian, barely even feeling the twinges of his protesting knees, his footfalls pounding on the wooden beams of the pier.

Ian is still fast, much faster than Jarrod, but it's raining pretty hard by the time they get to the car, and Jarrod unlocks it, panting as he climbs in, Ian scrambling in the passenger's side, and then they slam the doors shut and it's just the two of them inside the car, the sound of their breathing louder in the small space, raindrops falling heavily on the roof and windows around them.

Jarrod looks over at Ian, who is staring straight ahead.

"I had to get a divorce," Ian says. "But I couldn't tell anyone why. Some people knew but no one understood."

He turns his head and stares at Jarrod. "It's not just baseball. Baseball's all we know so we think that when something's missing that has to be it."

"I just want someone to need me," Jarrod says. "That's all I want. It's all I've ever wanted."

"I need you right now," Ian says.

So Jarrod leans over and kisses Ian again, holding the side of his face carefully, feeling warmth spread through him despite the dampness of his clothes and skin.

"I want to spend a night with you," he says, kissing his way back to the place beneath Ian's ear.

Ian turns his head into Jarrod's cheek and says, "Okay," very quietly, so Jarrod sits back, fumbling for his keys with shaky hands and starting the car.

"I'm glad I called you," Ian says as Jarrod turns out of the parking lot. "I almost didn't."

"What made you change your mind?" Jarrod asks, smiling at Ian.

"I just wanted to see more of you, I guess."

Jarrod feels like rolling down the windows and shouting at all the passing cars that he's happy, he's happy, for the first time in a long while he feels so fucking happy.

"I wasn't on a conference call earlier," Ian continues. "I was just too scared to come down and actually meet you."

"Why?" Jarrod says.

"I've always thought you were hot," Ian says. "Was afraid of what I'd say or do, since you're always so fucking friendly and I've tried not to read you wrong."

"Wow," Jarrod says. Everything feels like it's upside down and backwards from what it was just a few hours ago. Is this reality? Is this really happening?

"I was so fucking embarrassed that you caught me with a bottle of lube in my hand last night," Ian said. "I just picked it up to jerk off but when you saw it I felt like it was a giant flaming sign telling you that I was gay. I was sure you knew."

"Jesus, Ian," Jarrod says. "I wish you'd told me sooner."

"I know," Ian says. "I wish I had too."

"But," Jarrod says, a thought occurring to him. "You didn't buy it. You left it there on the shelf. Do we have to stop at the store again?"

"I went back for it after you left," Ian says sheepishly. "Seeing you for the first time in years gave me a pretty good reason to go through with that purchase."

Ian, Jarrod reflects, is a complete delight.

He makes Jarrod go to the shop in the lobby anyway for condoms, though, whispering his room number, giving Jarrod the extra key, and then going up first so that people won't see them together.

Jarrod feels like he's twenty years younger as he rides the elevator. It's bearing him upward, lifting him out of his useless life on the ground, and with each step he takes down the hallway he feels lighter.

Ian's in the bathroom when Jarrod steps into the hotel room so Jarrod takes off his sweater and sits down on the edge of the bed. Ian is kind of a slob, he thinks, grinning fondly. The bed is neatly made, of course, but there are shoes strewn on the floor and the one piece of luggage he's got looks like it exploded. There are papers all over the desk and several empty bottles and cans on top of the dresser.

Then Ian comes out, and he grins at Jarrod. It's a different grin from the one Jarrod saw at dinner, which was half smirk. This one looks so fucking innocent, and Jarrod can't really believe he's the same person. If he'd seen this smile on Ian before, Jarrod thinks, he would've known then and there.

"Come here," Jarrod says, and Ian does, stepping forward between Jarrod's knees and reaching down to run his hand over Jarrod's smooth head. Then he leans down, holding Jarrod's face between his hands, and kisses him again.

It's perfect, maybe the most perfect kiss Jarrod has ever had. He wraps his arms around Ian again and then pulls Ian down, turning them over so that Ian is on his back and Jarrod can brace himself over Ian, holding onto Ian's wrists.

"Salty," Ian says, squirming and laughing.

"What," Jarrod says, smiling as he nudges his nose against Ian's cheek.

"Let go of my hand," Ian says, so Jarrod does, and then Ian reaches down and cups Jarrod's dick through his pants.

"Fuck," Jarrod says tightly, flopping over on his back.

Ian scrambles up and lifts his knee over Jarrod's thighs so that he's straddling Jarrod, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

He pulls them down, and Jarrod's so hard already. It would be embarrassing if he were younger, but now he's just amazed that Ian is having this effect on him.

"Wow," Ian says. He leans down, and Jarrod just watches as Ian puts his mouth on Jarrod's dick.

Jarrod props himself up with his elbows so he can keep watching Ian go down on him. Ian's mouth is so warm and wet and he knows just how to press his tongue in the right places, and soon Jarrod has to push Ian off because he doesn't want to come in Ian's mouth, especially since he's old enough now that getting hard twice in one night is probably not going to happen, no matter how good he feels.

"Where's that lube you got?" Jarrod says, reaching down to pull his shirt off and get the condom.

Ian crawls off the bed and goes over to his suitcase, rummaging around and then coming back, taking off his shirt and pants. He's got high socks on under his pants, Jarrod notices, surprised.

"Wait," Jarrod says. "Don't take those off yet."

"What, my socks?" Ian says, looking up.

"Yeah," Jarrod says. "You really like those long socks, don't you?"

"I guess," Ian says. "I don't know. I like putting them on in the morning but I don't think about them after that."

"Take your briefs off," Jarrod says.

Ian pauses, looking over at Jarrod warily, and Jarrod realizes that Ian is a little flushed in the face.

He slowly reaches for the waistband of his briefs and then tugs them down, bending over to step out of them.

And then he's just standing there, naked except for his socks, his skin pasty and his body lean.

Jarrod gets off the bed and comes toward him, and Ian looks up at him nervously. Jarrod kisses him, touching his neck and running his hand down Ian's chest, and Ian reaches his small hands up to grasp Jarrod's biceps, but when Ian bites Jarrod's lip he breaks away.

"Sit down on the bed," Jarrod says.

Ian does, plopping down, his knees falling apart slightly and his legs dangling over the edge, his hard-on poking up between his thighs.

Jarrod kneels down in front of Ian, then, and runs two fingers just under the hem of Ian's right sock. Very slowly, he pulls it down so that it bunches up at Ian's ankle, and then he pulls it off Ian's foot.

Ian leans back to rest his weight on his hands, which are planted on the bed behind him, and his chest is rising and falling as he watches Jarrod with wide eyes.

He looks so goddamn fuckable, Jarrod thinks, some predatory impulse in him coming to life for the first time in years as he sees Ian sitting there with one sock on, waiting so patiently for whatever comes next.

Jarrod stands up straight, then, and Ian looks up at him, that hungry look back in his eyes. Jarrod pushes him back and leans over Ian, resting his weight between Ian's legs, and Ian spreads his thighs apart to accommodate Jarrod's girth, tilting his head back and exposing his neck a little.

Jarrod kisses it, and moves his hand down Ian's side, resting for a moment at his hip bone before reaching down between his legs to touch him there.

Ian squirms a little and then he pants against Jarrod's neck. Jarrod feels like for the first time in a long time he's finally in control of something, finally able to do something good, something that pleases someone, something meaningful.

He reaches for the infamous bottle of lube lying on the bed a few feet away, and then moves his hand down again to open Ian up.

"Salty," Ian says again, his voice low and raspy, as Jarrod is stroking and pushing slowly and methodically.

"You okay?" Jarrod says. "You wanna be facing me or on your stomach?"

"Face to face," Ian says.

So Jarrod kisses the side of Ian's face and then sits back, ripping the condom open and rolling it on before pushing Ian's legs up and apart to position himself.

Ian hooks one of his knees up over Jarrod's shoulder, and then Jarrod slowly presses forward, feeling the way Ian's body gives way.

"You're so fucking big, Salty," Ian says, his voice strained.

"I know," Jarrod says regretfully, feeling a strange mix of remorse and triumph that Ian is willing to let Jarrod do this to him.

Ian looks up above him, gesturing wordlessly toward the pillows, so Jarrod reaches for one, pushing it under Ian's lower back, and then Ian gives way even more, and Jarrod is lost. He pulls out slowly, and then pushes in as deep as he can in one movement.

"Fu-uck," Ian stutters, flinging his arms up and arching his back so that his chest is bowed.

Jarrod can feel the change in him, the way Ian's body gets looser and more pliant with every one of Jarrod's movements, and Jarrod leans down to brace his weight on his hands, which are resting next to Ian's torso. He gets into a rhythm, biting down on his lower lip as he reams Ian, fucking him over and over and putting everything he's got into making it last. When he finally comes he can't help making a choking sound, because it's so fucking amazing and he's losing his mind.

But Ian hasn't come yet, so Jarrod collects himself, pulling out and getting the condom off, tossing it toward the garbage can next to the bed. Then he turns to kiss the place just above Ian's ankle, which is still resting on his shoulder, and then leans down to take Ian's dick in his mouth.

Ian makes a gasping, needful sound, his thighs falling even further apart, and Jarrod reaches up with his fingers to fuck Ian with them as he sucks Ian off.

It doesn't take long for Ian to push frantically at Jarrod's forehead, and Jarrod backs off, hooking his middle and index finger up and waiting for Ian to come, which he does, spurting on Jarrod's chest.

He's so flushed, Jarrod thinks approvingly, his thighs reddened and his chest pink, and he lowers his legs, curling up on his side and then flopping over onto his stomach. Jarrod moves off the bed to get a kleenex, wiping himself off, and then he goes back to the bed, where Ian is still lying on his stomach, his ass reddened too. Jarrod runs his hands over Ian's back briefly and then falls down on the bed next to him, looking at Ian's face. Ian's eyes are closed and he looks like he's falling asleep already.

Jarrod reaches over to turn the light off, and Ian curls up closer to Jarrod, flinging one arm across Jarrod's chest. Jarrod smiles to himself in the darkness, reaching up to put his hand over Ian's.

*

The next morning Jarrod wakes up with the sun shining on him, the curtain partly open. He peers over at the clock. It's a little after seven. He's supposed to be at church by 10:15 and Ashley is probably frantically wondering where he spent the night.

Time enough to deal with that, Jarrod thinks. He looks at Ian's face, which looks very young in repose. Again he has the feeling that no time has passed at all, that he's still 22 and everything is just beginning, that it's 2009, before the car accident that changed everything, and they're on the road together.

Then Ian stirs, squinting his eyes open.

"What time is it?" he says, his voice gravelly.

"About 7:10," Jarrod says.

"Fuck, I have a meeting at eight," Ian says, but he makes no move to get up.

Suddenly Jarrod realizes something.

He reaches down to the watch on his wrist and undoes the buckle. It's a $50,000 watch but he hopes Ian knows that it means something more than that. Reaching across Ian, he picks up Ian's left hand.

"What are you doing?" Ian says.

Jarrod wordlessly wraps the band of the watch around Ian's wrist, working the tiny buckle into place. "There, is that too tight?" he says.

"Are you seriously giving this to me?"

"Yeah," Jarrod says. "You said you liked it, right?"

"Well, yeah, but--Salty--"

"I want you to have it," Jarrod says.

Ian looks over at Jarrod for a long moment, and then he smiles again, that happy, naive smile that makes him look like a self-satisfied little clam. He lifts his wrist up to examine the watch carefully, and Jarrod scoots closer to rest his chin on Ian's shoulder.

He's not reliving the past by being here with Ian right now, because he'll never be the person he thought he was when he was 22. But that doesn't mean this isn't a beginning. Because, Jarrod realizes, he didn't find what he thought he was looking for all those years ago. He's found something better.


End file.
